Hard Luck Man
by ookamiblitz
Summary: Grimsley/Burgh. One shot in two parts. After a losing night at the casino, Grimsley wanders the streets of Castelia City, reminiscing about his youth as a fallen aristocrat and about the man who pulled him through his troubles.
1. Paper Gangster

**Chapter One: Paper Gangster**

"Relax guys-Hey, easy on the suit, buddy! Look, I'm sure we can work something out..."

"This establishment is through working things out with you, Grimsley," a voice like sandpaper grunted. The next thing he knew, the Pokémon Master found himself thrown to the curb, the harlequin lights of Castelia's gambling district spinning around him as he tumbled against the concrete. A group of girls pursed their lips, holding back spiteful laugher. Composing himself, Grimsley rose and brushed the dirt from his dark, velour suit. He gave the young women a winning smile, and they began to laugh openly. The arm of his jacket had been ripped at the seam and hung around his bicep, making him look more like a shabby bum than an aristocrat. Grumbling, he turned his back and began to limp down the street, his pride and knee crippled.

By 3AM, the streets of Castelia City became silent. Within the last hour, all of the night owls, partygoers, and nocturnal riffraff crawled, sauntered, and staggered back to their homes. Grimsley was left to wander the street, broke and piloting the streets solo. Halfheartedly, he scanned the darkened storefronts for an ATM, but he knew better. His last penny had yielded to the house. On the bright side, if he were to be jumped by a group of delinquents, Grimsley wouldn't lose a dime.

As he approached a liquor store, a dry smile consumed his face. Although the brick was covered in a thick, gray grime and the windows had long ago been shattered and boarded up, the abandoned establishment evoked memories of better times, better people, and more money than he could handle. The remnants of his youth endured in the crusty mortar and broken brick. It was here, nearly ten years before, that his journey began. He shuffled towards the door of the building and sat on the stoop. Grimsley threw his head back, fighting to find stars in the haze of the big city, trying to figure out where it had all gone sour.

* * *

><p>Squinting, a young artist began to unpack his tools, unable to see the proper colors of his paints in the dimly lit foyer. A regal woman with short, dark hair sat at the foot of a grand, red-carpeted stairway, making smalltalk and softly stroking the back of a Purrloin. Although the lavish surroundings impressed the young artist, he couldn't help but feel intimidated. He hadn't been hired to do a job by a person so well known as Madam Stygian. For the most part, he made his living on the street selling caricatures of people and Pokémon for a few dollars apiece. The artist wondered how this woman heard of him. She didn't seem like the type that visited the Saturday markets or street fairs.<p>

"I'm sure my children will be here shortly," Madam Stygian replied. Her voice had a somewhat pompous tone to it, as if it had been pulled right from a stinging satire of the upper class. "Grimsley is always late, but I do wonder what's keeping June..." The woman's eyes disappeared into her wrinkles as she squinted her eyes in displeasure at the thought of her children. "She has always been a responsible young lady...Do forgive me. What was your name again?"

"You can just call me Burgh, ma'am," the artist answered, looking at her through a curtain of wavy brown hair as he set up his easel.

"Oh yes, now I remember," she exclaimed. "My daughter assures me you do excellent work. I believe she said that you painted a portrait of her best friend's Audino last month."

"That's right," he replied, grinning. Although he wasn't able to get the Pokémon to sit still, he managed to capture every detail of the Audino on canvas. While some trainers caught Pokémon in capsules, there was nothing more that Burgh loved than trapping them on paper, in ink or paint or pastel. If only Pokémon could pay him for his work...

The two continued to make small talk as Burgh set up his supplies. By the time he finished, a slim girl with flowing, sable hair had taken a seat next to her mother on the stairs. Although she was quiet, her blue eyes rattled with intensity. The expression of her face was a tense mix of boredom and agitation. She obviously didn't want to be there, and her attitude made Burgh take on a tad bit of performance anxiety. Nonetheless, he was ready to start as soon as Madam Stygian's son decided to show up.

Unfortunately, Burgh only had the company of the two regal women for the next handful of minutes. He watched their faces try to hide impatience. It was contagious. Burgh had arrived at the manor nearly forty-five minutes before. He was afraid he'd need to cancel his plans for a night out if he waited any longer.

As luck would have it, the Stygian boy stumbled in through the heavy front door. Like his mother and sister, Grimley wore a crown of straight, black hair, his shaped into a style reminiscent of a devil's horns, and he shared the same bored, irritated look of his sister. His own icy eyes pulsated with an irascibility that would make Burgh's hand shake as he sketched out the man's delicate features. It was fortunate that the young man wanted to get the portrait over with. He quickly mumbled a few bitter words to his mother and sat next to his sister. The Purrloin stretched and took her spot on her master's lap, yawning and allowing Grimsley to pet her. With the addition of Grimsley, Burgh was ready to begin his work.

The family sat quietly, the mother's arms around her children and the son's hand grasping his sister's. They were as still as the grave, making it easy for Burgh to sketch them despite the Stygian children's unruly attitude. Although they hated this experience, they hid their displeasure...at first. By the time Burgh began to add the first layer of paint, Grimsley had reached up to touch his hair several times, changing his expression each time he went still. His mother and sister hissed at him to stop fidgeting, and he responded by standing up.

"Stop it, Grimsley," Madam Stygian ordered. "You're interrupting the painter's concentration."

"Jeez, mom," he replied, stretching. "It's called a photograph. It's not like it's a new invention or something..."

"Of course you'd do this," his sister mumbled. "You can't sit still for your family for one second, can you?"

"I heard that, June," he barked, turning his back to the artist. Burgh had no choice but to stop. He had the sinking feeling that he'd be asked to leave soon. "At least I'm not out whoring myself around at the clubs on Gym Street."

"You're one to talk!" she yelped. "At least I'm not out pissing away grandpa's hard-earned money at the casino!"

"Quiet both of you!" their mother snapped. "You're acting like animals in front of our guest." Grimsley directed his gaze at Burgh, his lips pouty. A chill went down Burgh's spine as he caught the frigid glare of the young man.

"He's nobody. Screw him," Grimsley scoffed, straightening his jacket. "And screw this painting." He began to saunter towards the door, his hands in his pockets. "I'm going out. Don't wait up for me." The young nobleman left his alabaster-bricked home, prompting his sister to storm up the stairs and disappear into her bedroom. Madam Stygian put her face in her hand and sighed.

"I apologize for my children,"she began. "Sometimes I don't know where I went wrong...I promise to pay you for your time."

"Oh no, I know things didn't turn out, but I can't accept payment for only half a portrait." Burgh looked over the canvas. The framework of the family was complete. "I tell you what. If you can let me borrow a few photographs of you and your kids, I can take them back to my studio and use them and my memory as a reference. I have a few more jobs to do, but I can have it done in a week. How does that sound?"

"Oh that sounds wonderful, young man!" she exclaimed, standing and running off into another room. She retuned with an envelope. "Please take your time. I couldn't thank you more."

"It isn't a problem," he replied, taking the envelope and sliding it into his bag. Carefully, he rounded up his supplies and bid farewell to his client, assuring her that despite her son's outburst, by week's end she would have a masterpiece.

* * *

><p>Grimsley pushed his sunglasses further up his nose and sighed. His hand, although good, was not spectacular. He rubbed his thumb across three fives, watching the other players from behind the shades. The man to his side, a portly fellow with piercing blue eyes, bit his lip, signaling a poor hand. The player across from him held his composure, but the small droplets of sweat beading at his hairline informed Grimsley that he would soon drop out. It was the gentleman opposite Grimsley that would be the real competition. His composure was that of a stone.<p>

A series of folds, passes, and calls filled the next few minutes. As expected, the men adjacent to Grimsley left the game. The only player that remained was the boulder-faced man. His cold eyes gazed past his hand, and his large fingers reflexively squeezed at his cards. This was not a man accustomed to losing. Grimsley was able to stifle the feeling of dread this man radiated by looking at his own cards. He had a straight flush; the odds of losing this game were slim. Yet, he pouted in a display of faux disappointment. He wanted to make his victory all the more divine.

"Call," the man mumbled, his voice rumbling like a thundercloud. He dropped his cards on the table. "Four of a kind."

Grimsley's eyes widened, regarding the cards as one does a loaded gun. Slowly, bringing his petrified stare up to the man's face, he set his cards on the table. As his hand fell and his fingertips alighted from the cards, Grimsley's vacant stare was replaced by a sneer.

"Straight flush."

The game was over, and the enormous pool would go right into Grimsley's pocket, much to the dismay of his competitor. Quickly, he collected his winnings and stood for the door, eager to start spending this sudden influx of cash. However, before he could turn to leave, the man on the other end of the table extended his hand.

"Good game, young man," he said. "I look forward to facing you again sometime."

"Right," Grimsley muttered, limply taking the man's hand and giving it a quick shake. "I'm happy to take your money anytime, buddy." The man's brow furrowed at Grimsley's hastiness, and he glared after him as he stepped out of the room. As he opened the door, something fell from the sleeve of his jacket. The door slammed, and the stoic competitor bent down to pick up a thick slip of paper.

"Son of a bitch," the man grumbled, finding himself in possession of an ace of spades. Standing straight, he lifted his hand and motioned for someone to come in close. A man in a dark suit stepped out from the shadows and picked the card from his employer's hand.

"Find that kid," he ordered. "Get back twice what he took from me." Silently, the suited man pulled a Poké Ball from his side pocket. With a flash of light, a Herdier appeared and began to sniff the card. Catching the scent of must and chocolate, the Pokémon scratched at the door, ready to find its mark.

At that moment, Grimsley was long-gone, already across the street at a bar, charming a barista. Safe in a cocoon of wealth and confidence, he remained unaware of the force that pursued him.

* * *

><p>"<em>Yoohoo<em>, Burgh! Over here!"

The young artist flipped his hair back and caught sight of a pale, thin hand fluttering in the air. Burgh jostled his way through the neon-lit crowd and found a seat at the bar next to a petite blonde girl. Smiling, she slid him a drink and adjusted the strap of her tank top.

"I'm liking the hair, Elesa," Burgh said. "I never thought you'd buzz it."

"Yeah, my agent suggested I get a cut that keeps the hair out of my face," she replied, running her hand down the back of her head. "I guess I took it to the extreme."

"It looks phenomenal," he repeated. Taking a quick glance around the room before leaning forward to sip his drink, he spoke lowly. "So...have you found any good man-candy tonight?"

Elesa began to laugh maniacally, her high-pitched cackle breaking through the sound of the crowd. "Oh Burgh, I swear you're worse than a teenage girl." She took a deep breath. "There isn't much to work with tonight. The only really good-looking one is chatting up the bartender, but damn..." Burgh followed the gaze of her wide-set, electric-blue eyes to the end of the bar. He only needed to see the back of the young man's head, his dark hair slicked back like some debonair, gothic nightmare, to recognize that this was the same person whom Burgh had tried to paint that afternoon. He scowled at Elesa and recounted the events at the Stygian manor.

"So, he looks like a badass and acts like a brat..." she muttered. "Just what I need...another paper gangster..."

"I'm sure Prince Charming will walk into this club and steal one of us away," Burgh sighed. "Hopefully he'll be move in ready. I can barely afford to make the rent..."

"Not having much luck with painting?" Elesa asked, then ordering another drink.

"Now that summer's over I don't have as many customers at my booth downtown, and I don't have enough of a reputation for commissions yet..."

"Bummer," she exhaled. "I wish we could room together, but my agent drains me dry. My parents are the only thing keeping me afloat at the moment..." Elesa became quiet. The subject troubled Burgh more than he let on. Catching the subtle weight of sullenness on her face, she smiled and geared their conversation towards a more agreeable subject. "Well then, let's find you a boyfriend tonight."

Burgh smiled. "Only if he's rich." Elesa giggled, but Burgh's grin was fleeting. Unfortunately, the only man in the room with a lot of money was Grimsley Stygian, and he was busy chatting up whatever woman had the nerve to stand next to him for more than a second. Not that he wanted Grimsley. Burgh just wanted a man with his qualities. After all, who wouldn't want a tall, dark and handsome man with a lot of change in his pockets? Relenting his stare, he steered himself back into a conversation with Elesa.

"Have you gotten into any good battles lately?" he asked. "Last time we met you said you caught another Emolga..."

"Eh, nothing really exciting," she answered. "One of the other models at my last photo-shoot challenged me, but it was a cakewalk. I think I'm ready to battle the Striaton Gym Leader. What about you? You challenged him didn't you?"

"Oh, I lost miserably, but I want to try again. I heard that he's training his nephews to take over, so I assume he's going to retire soon," Burgh answered. "I'd like to beat him before I need to come up with a new strategy for his successor."

"Hm, I might wait then. It might be easier to challenge someone with less experience..." As Elesa discussed their budding careers as Pokémon trainers, Burgh found his gaze drifting back to the end of the bar. The seat Grimsley had taken was abandoned. Idly, he searched the room for him. It took a moment, but Burgh spotted him emerging from the hall that lead to the bathroom, flattening his shirt as he walked. Elesa noticed the silence and followed his eyes. Both watched as the bartender followed behind him, readjusting her skirt and fixing her hair. Elesa stifled a laugh.

"They didn't."

"Oh they did," Burgh remarked. They followed Grimsley as he walked across the floor. The dark Casanova stopped upon crossing paths with a young man with two girls. Slyly, he whispered something into the man's ear, causing the boy to blush so deeply that Burgh and Elesa could see it from across the room.

"He can't be for real, can he?" Elesa laughed. Suddenly, her expression dropped into a cold stare, as if she were modeling for a hidden camera. "Shit, he saw me, and I think he just winked..." Burgh swung his head around and watched as Grimsley slithered towards them, obviously finding Elesa a more appealing dish than the sheepish boy at the other end of the room. Mortified, she covered her face with her hand.

"Pretend to be my boyfriend, please," she mumbled desperately, downing her drink for some nerve. Burgh rolled his eyes as Grimsley approached. The unwanted guest leaned over the bar between them, ignoring Burgh and doing his best to make eye-contact with the beautiful model.

"I swear I've seen that face before," he greeted, his voice as smooth as his ivory skin. "The most recent issue of Fashion Weekly, I believe it was an ad for eye-shadow, right in the middle where the staple goes..."

"I'm flattered, but if you really want to stare at my face then go buy the damn magazine," she scoffed.

"Your face isn't the only part of you that's lovely," he persisted. "It's a shame that the ad was just a headshot..."

"Hey, back off buddy," Burgh warned. "She's here with me."

Grimsley gaze Burgh a sideways glance. He seemed to recognize him, but didn't appear to care. "Yeah, sure, and I'm a fucking fairy princess."

"Seriously," Elesa jumped in. "Take your greasy hair and shoddy black nail-job and back off, emo kid."

Grimsley pouted. "Well, sweetheart, if you change your mind, here's my number." He produced a card from the inside of his jacket and dropped it on the table in front of Elesa. "Give me a call when you're tired of cruising the bar for guys with this hopeless flamer..." He gave her one last winning grin and spun on his heel, sauntering back towards the shy young man at the other end of the club.

Elesa promptly ripped up Grimsley's number and dropped the remnants of the paper in her empty glass. She was flustered, but Burgh knew she'd get over it soon. On the other hand, he wasn't so sure of himself. Grimsley was the type of man that frustrated Burgh the most, the type that used his wits and charms to slide deeper into hedonism rather than to contribute to the world at large. It was a waste, especially as attractive as he was. Through narrow, vexed eyes, he watched Grimsley give up on his conquest and leave the building, pushing away a stray Herdier that barked at his heels.

"One more drink?" Elesa tempted. "Maybe that prince will show up before we finish..."

* * *

><p>A few days passed since the incident at the bar. Elesa had gone back to modeling in Nimbasa City while Burgh remained in Castelia, scraping together whatever money he could and searching for a real job. Those fast-paced, weary days seemed like a distant memory as Burgh ambled down the sidewalks in the wealthy side of town. The weather was clear, and a cool breeze kept the heat of the summer sun in check. His shoulder grew sore beneath the weight of his bag, the canvas stored within it heavy with paint. In whatever time he could spare, he worked on the Stygian family portrait. He worried that it would not meet the discerning standards of the family matriarch, but the soft sunlight shined of pure optimism.<p>

Yet, when he reached the iron gates of the suburban palace, this optimism was replaced by a feeling of dread. Several trucks sat parked before the great, double-doored front entrance. June Stygian sat on the front steps, chatting away on her cell phone as she stroked the feathers of her Swanna. A look of absolute hopelessness settled on her face. Realizing that the security guard that once occupied a post in the front yard was absent and the gate was unlocked, Burgh let himself in, his stomach dropping lower as he walked father into the property.

"It's bad already, and my brother's being a complete asshole about it," June grumbled into the receiver. "Hold on, Gloria- What do you need?"

"Oh," Burgh stood with his mouth open like a dying fish, "is your mother here?"

"She's inside," June answered. "Though, I doubt she'll want to stand around and chat about artwork." Burgh's left eyebrow rose as he climbed the steps and let himself inside. The once lavishly decorated foyer was becoming more bare by the second as workers confiscated the family's belongings. At the top of the stairs, Madam Stygian stood with her head resting on her palm. To Burgh's dismay, Grimsley was beside her, softly arguing a desperate-sounding plea.

"C'mon, mom," he mewled. "You can't just leave me hang!"

"I wouldn't help you if I _could_," she replied through her teeth. "Your- your antics have tarnished the Stygian name, and that name is all we have left."

"Please mother, whatever you have," he begged, his smooth voice doing his best to thaw her frozen mien. "There must be _something_ left..."

"There is _nothing_, Grimsley," she exhaled. Slowly, she lifted her arm and pointed to a set of bags against the wall. "Take your things and go. Your father and I don't want you and your troubles following us to Undella. You managed to get yourself into this situation, and you'll have to find your way out of it."

Grimsley bit his lip and shot his mother a spiteful glare. Roughly, he tore his bags away from the wall. Pausing at the top of the stairs, he growled a terse farewell to his mother. Madam Stygian remained unflinchingly cold towards her son. He trudged down the steps, his Purrloin struggling at his heels to catch up. Catching sight of Burgh's intruding eye, Grimsley stopped abruptly at the foot of the staircase. With little distance between them, Burgh was able to see the purple bruise that marred his face and swallowed his left eye.

"What the fuck are you staring at?" he mumbled bitterly. Burgh dropped his gaze to the floor as Grimsley took leave. The front door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the emptying hall, lingering in Burgh's chest for reasons he didn't understand.

* * *

><p>As if a faucet had been switched off, the downpour that had forced Grimsley beneath the awning of an abandoned bakery subsided. Sighing, he crept back onto the street. Carefully stepping around puddles as to not ruin his good trousers, he felt a deep regret. In a quick and desperate attempt to earn cash, he had bet the contents of one of his suitcases and lost. All he had left was a single bag filled with clothes and a Purrloin that insisted on weaving in-between his legs as he walked. As to be expected, his Pokémon's actions caused him to trip and fall face-first into the wet, grimy asphalt.<p>

"God damn it!" he cursed, lifting himself from the pavement. "Even you manage to screw me over!" Purrloin's ears dropped and she stepped backwards. Immediately, Grimsley's face softened and he extended his hand to his feline friend. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that." He stood and took her into his arms. "It's just you and me now, sweetheart, and I'd rather have muddy knees than lose my only real friend." Purrloin nudged his face and the two continued down the street.

Never before had Grimsley ventured this deep into the darker side of the city. The path before him and the buildings beside him seethed with neglect and instability. It was a place often mocked and dismissed, but never totally understood. Grimsley remained ignorant of the danger that could be behind every corner. He was a giant target, traveling alone with no defenses, no confidence, and no hope left.

He wouldn't need to worry about random thugs and overconfident drunkards. No, his assailants would have names and faces familiar to the fallen aristocrat. They had already painted his face in greens, purples, and blacks, marking him for a future collection. Grimsley's time was running out; he knew he needed to find somewhere to hide until the whole incident blew over.

The two dark figures waiting for him at the corner were in no mood to wait. At their feet, a familiar Herdier growled. Grimsley stopped dead. They looked like shadows, the luminosity of a storefront shining at their backs. At the sight of him, they dropped off of their corner, gliding towards him like phantoms. Quickly, he began to empty his pockets, raking together every dime he had. He tossed it on the street before him, but that didn't stop the advance of the demons. The time for negotiation passed long ago. It was time for blood.

Purrloin screeched and pounced at the Herdier. Despite her bravery, she was just a simple house cat, and the canine tossed her aside. Grimsley felt a force grab him by the shirt and throw him to the curb. He experienced a sensation akin to having his guts scooped out. Kick after kick, it grew more agonizing and sharp. His yelps and moans fell only the deaf ears of his assailants.

Grimsley remained unaware that just above that liquor store, in a cramped apartment filled to the brim with unpayable bills and paint cans, an artist sat at his desk, clutching a pink invoice and calculating his assets. In that domicile, the artist had just stood to flip a record, trying to drown out his worries with the power of vinyl, when an especially severe howl rose from Grimsley's lips. He was too preoccupied to know that the artist had peered out of his window at the chaos below and was now calling the police.

At the moment, Grimsley only knew a numbing pain throughout his entire body. Weakly, he looked ahead at the limp body of his injured Pokémon. Suddenly, the beating stopped. The atmosphere was still as the men began to step backwards. The whine of a siren hung long in the air, and they began to run. A white object entered his field of vision and fluttered to the ground. Feebly, he picked it up between two fingertips. A familiar ace stared back into his frosty eyes.

A weak smile filled the space between his swollen cheeks. His personal talisman had returned to him. Tonight just might be his lucky night.


	2. The Prince of Darkness

**Chapter Two: The Prince of Darkness**

_"No, I didn't see their faces. They ran just before the police came, but they didn't seem much bigger than him."_

Grimsley's eyelid struggled to flutter beneath the swollen weight of a deep purple shiner. The eye itself felt as if it had been plucked out and violently stuffed back in its socket. Traumatized, it could only see the harsh, blurry light of a halogen lamp. The other one seemed lost, buried beneath his blood-filled flesh. Blinded, he was only able to listen to his digitized heartbeat and to voices of interrogation beside him.

_"I don't have any idea of what he was doing there. Like I said, he's just an acquaintance."_

He turned his head to make out the figures. One of them was obviously a police officer, holding a notepad in one hand and resting his other on his gun. To his chagrin, he recognized the bushy, chestnut hair and flowing, coral scarf of the other man. Of all the people in the world, why did it have to be that artist?

A nurse, aware that he was waking, scurried to his side and began to check his vital signs. This would be the beginning of his own cross-examination. For the next half an hour, nurses, a doctor, and the police asked him a series of questions ranging from his name to the last time he used the bathroom. As speech filled what seemed like an endless amount of time, Grimsley's attitude became more uncooperative. He made no effort to hide his stiff-necked behavior. He wanted out of the bed and out of the emergency room, and he'd soon be willing to claw his way out.

After shouting a slur that could be constitute a hate crime at the nurse, she tore out of the room in search of discharge papers. Grimsley let out a rough sigh as he found himself alone at last. He smiled privately. With any luck, they'd send him packing with some super effective painkillers so he could forget all about this little unpleasantness.

His pleasure was short lived. Quietly, Burgh emerged from behind the blue curtain that separated him from the rest of the sick and injured riffraff. His beloved Purrloin leapt from his arms to the foot of her master's bed, purring and rolling about in ecstasy. Grimsley said nothing to the artist, silently scratching the Pokémon's back. Yet, he did not leave.

"What _are_ you doing here?" he asked, his weak voice still able to carry a condescending tone.

"I'm the one who called the police," the artist answered crisply. "I'm just here to make sure you're okay."

"Well, I've still got all my fingers and toes, buddy," Grimsley replied. "You can go."

"Actually, no," he rebutted. "If it wasn't for me, your sorry ass might be dead. I at least deserve a bit of gratitude, don't I?"

"Oh of course!" Grimsley raved. "After all, it is such a dangerous and heroic action to dial three numbers and sit by the phone!"

Burgh, whom Grimsley had pegged for a pushover and a prig, put his forehead in his palm and let out a short laugh. Whether this action was borne of exhaustion or a hidden sardonic streak, Grimsley had no idea. It flustered him, and he did his best to glare at his savior.

"I usually don't say stuff like this to people, but you're a joke," he laughed. "You can't see past the size of your own ego, can you? I'm trying to help you, because it's obvious from the way you just got the shit kicked out of you that you don't have a real friend in the world. It's pathetic. Your pride will let you die in the street before you ever give someone a simple 'thanks,' won't it?"

Grimsley threw his head away from the artist and stared at the humps his knees formed beneath his blanket. His head spun in spite and pain. This lecture wouldn't have bothered him if this stranger was incorrect. He _was_ alone. It was the only reason why he found himself meandering about the city at night. Grimsley bit his lip. When he left the hospital, he'd end up on the street once more, a miserable prospect if there ever was one. Scowling, he patted the head of his Purrloin and brought his gaze back to the artist.

"You know, I'm not that selfish," he declared. "I'd rather sleep on a park bench than put my friends out. However...if you really want to help out and be a pal, you'll let me crash at your place for a few days."

Burgh let out a soft groan and sat back. He needed this man in his home like he needed a hole in his head. Unfortunately, his conscience was using his stomach as a trampoline, making him sick at the thought of abandoning this fallen man. Grimsley was in a pitiful state. The way his eyes wavered below his disfigured brow reminded him of a stray dog, ravenous for food and companionship.

"Three weeks at the most," he conceded. "It's only until you get back on your feet, and you start working at it the moment you get over your beating."

Grimsley gave him a devilish grin. "You won't regret this, artsy boy."

* * *

><p>Letting his feet drag, Burgh shuffled sluggishly towards the gentle rapping of knuckles against the door. Yawning, he greeted his visitor as she let herself in, her high heels clicking against the wooden floor. Elesa's eyes skimmed the room, detecting atypical clutter and disorganization that lay about the room in clumps. The living area was the epicenter of this disaster Burgh called his apartment. A waterfall of bedding and clothing hung over the couch cushions and emptied into a no-man's land of half-empty water bottles and used canisters of pomade. Elesa sighed and cleared a pile of laundry off of an armchair to sit.<p>

"So I can assume that things are going well with your new roommate," she met sarcastically.

"You're not funny," he grumbled, plopping down onto the couch. After nearly two weeks, Burgh was becoming used to the mess. Nonetheless, his tolerance was wearing thin. "He can't rinse off a dish, he never puts away anything he takes out, he eats _everything_, and he has no concept of the word 'laundromat.'"

"Well...you wanted a boyfriend," she teased. "You just got all of the mess and none of the perks."

"He's more like a little kid than anything," he sighed, pulling an empty bag of chips from the couch cushion. "If he wasn't bringing in money, I would have thrown him out a week ago."

"So he found a job?"

"He got a job right away as a waiter," Burgh answered. Elesa raised her eyebrows and puckered her lips in disbelief. "I was surprised too, but he works every night." Roughly sighing, he closed his eyes. "It's still not enough to pay off any of my bills though."

"So I guess that means you can't come out for a drink tonight, can you?" Elesa asked, pouting. Burgh shrugged.

"I can always afford one or two, but if you want to go out, let's leave before Grimsley gets back. I don't want to have to invite him along."

"Sounds good to me," Elesa replied, smiling and rising. "We should go down to the Central Plaza and have a battle first. My Blitzle is feeling a bit neglected lately."

"So you train a Blitzle?" a voice called as the door swung open. Elesa rolled her eyes as Grimsley stepped into the apartment. Burgh let out a rough sigh.

"We were just leaving, Grimsley," he said, ignoring as much of the man as he could. "We'll be at the plaza if there's an emergency-"

"Oh the plaza!" he cut in. "Going to battle or just watch?"

"A little of both," Elesa replied shortly, taking Burgh by the arm to leave.

"Why don't I join you then?" he said, holding the door for them. "I'm not a fighter, but I would enjoy watching you battle, Elesa my dear."

"_Ew_ don't call me that. Ever," she warned, glancing helplessly at Burgh. Though he needed a break from Grimsley, Burgh couldn't resist that pouty face. Not that he could if he wanted to. Whatever Grimsley wanted, he was sure to get, and he'd just end up following them out anyway.

"Behave yourself and you can come," Burgh relinquished.

Grimsley's sulk became a smile as if he had flipped a coin. "Well of course I will, _roomie_. I wouldn't want to embarrass you, would I?" Hiding his blush with his hair, Burgh hightailed it out of the apartment, Elesa at his arm and Grimsley trailing slowly behind.

* * *

><p>As usual, the Central Plaza was filled with the buzzing of fresh talent. New trainers ran about, testing their teams and strategies, while the more experienced ones traded tales and gossip. This was Burgh and Elesa's element. If life had treated them differently, both would have started their journey's fresh out of high school. Luckily, they still had this plaza. Immediately, they began to stake out the competition while Grimsley took a rest on a park bench, hiding his milky skin beneath the shade of an oak tree.<p>

Burgh and Elesa easily won against their first few challengers. When approached by a boy no older than ten, Burgh persuaded his Dwebble to faint on cue, providing the first "loss" of the early afternoon. Soon after, Elesa's Emolga was shot down by a powerful Rock Slide. As she collected the injured rodent in her arms, one of the bystanders approached her. It was a young man, trapped in his teens with an attitude to match.

"See, this is why pretty girls like you shouldn't battle," he remarked hastily. "You just don't know what you're getting into."

Elesa was silent for a moment, unsure how to handle this stupidity. "You seriously did not say that to me..."

"Well it's true," he continued. "The only good girl Pokémon trainer in Unova is just a Gym Leader, and she can't be that good if she just trains normal types."

"If my Pokémon weren't so exhausted I'd have them kick the shit out of you," she threatened, quietly. The trainer dismissed this threat by laughing. Elesa stared at the ground, flustered. This bout of self-doubt was short lived as a cocky shuffling grew closer. Elesa watched helplessly as Grimsley stepped forward. He grinned at the Pokémon trainer like a vampire, his eyes burning with contempt.

"Let me guess, you talk big because the most threatening Pokémon on your team is a Patrat," he mocked, putting a hand in the pocket of his jacket. Burgh, fresh from another win, looked over to where Elesa stood and watched as Grimsley taunted the teenager. Quickly, he approached the situation, not wanting any sort of escalation.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he replied. "You can prove me wrong if you'd like, but I doubt you'd be able to win."

"Alright, bud," the trainer replied, pulling a Poké Ball from his belt. "I'll take that challenge. Go, Yamask!" With a flash, the ghost Pokémon appeared before them. Though it wasn't a Patrat, it certainly wasn't more than Grimsley could deal with. He pulled the capsule that contained his own partner from his pocket and released his Purrloin. Both Pokémon and trainer glared at their opponents scornfully.

"Yamask, Astonish!" The ghost rushed Purrloin and made a gruesome face, causing Purrloin to recoil backwards in apprehension. Grimsley shouted an encouragement and ordered her to use Swagger. Purrloin intensified her contemptuous look, infuriating Yamask. It stuck back with a powerful Night Shade. Yamask shed a black aura that passed through Purrloin, chilling her.

"C'mon, Purrloin. Use Foul Play!" Purrloin hesitated, allowing Yamask to rush forward to strike. Aiming for it's gilded mask, Purrloin slammed into the Pokémon with her forehead, sending the ghost reeling backwards. It fluttered to the ground, defeated, its owner looking on in seething awe.

Grimsley celebrated wordlessly, picking up his Pokémon and giving her a congratulatory scratch on the chin. Elesa and Burgh shared the same expression of shock as Grimsley's opponent. For someone who had never participated in a battle before, he won so effortlessly. Smiling, he backed away from the battleground and turned to Elesa.

"M'lady, your honor is intact," he said, taking her and and kissing it before she could recoil. Blushing, her eyes shot to Burgh for help, but they only found an amused grin.

That evening, the three of them took to the streets as if they were kings, hopping from club to club without a care in the world. As he was a gracious winner, Grimsley paid for every last drink.

* * *

><p>Only the breaking of the sea against the pier sullied the silence between Burgh and Grimsley as they walked along the shore. The air was warm and salty, and the clouds were a pink and citrus-colored kaleidoscope across the sky. Their walks on glorious evenings like this had become routine over the last few weeks, but Grimsley was generally more talkative. However, on this night, he remained mute as a defense. If he were to speak, Grimsley was sure that Burgh would rip his throat out, further marring an already ruined evening.<p>

Grimsley kicked at a rock on the pavement and glanced sideways at Burgh. Despite holding a poker face Grimsley envied, Burgh was still seething behind his eyes. This was why he liked to avoid telling the truth at all costs. Honesty is often much more hurtful than a lie.

Behind his impenetrable expression, Grimsley knew that all kinds of unpleasant emotions were getting ready to boil over. Anger, betrayal, blind fury...he was ready for it all. Yet, when Burgh finally composed himself enough to speak up, a unaccounted sentiment undermined his defenses.

"I'm disappointed, Grimsley," Burgh muttered. "Why did you feel the need to lie to me?"

_Disappointed._ It was a term his family used to love to use in conjunction with his name. It was a heavier word now. Rather than feel outrage and resentment at the utterance as he would have with his folks, he felt an unfamiliar pang of guilt. Burgh was the last person he wanted to hear that from.

"Well, if I had told the truth, you wouldn't have taken the money, and we'd be cuddled up on that park bench, calling it home," he mumbled weakly, unable to not sound self-justifying. "I know it was wrong to lie about having a job, and the last place I should have gone the casino, but I didn't know what else to do..." Grimsley stopped and looked out at the ocean. "I'm not good at _anything_," he remarked. "I'm not even that lucky, but it's all I know."

Burgh stared at Grimsley from behind, unsure if the forlorn look and misty eyes were some kind of melodramatic performance or a genuine confession. It didn't feel like it mattered. He couldn't prove Grimsley's authenticity one way or the other. It was up to Burgh to act on his own interpretation.

"That isn't true," he replied, stepping forward to stand by his side in the sand. "What have you been doing for the last few weeks? Every time we go down to the plaza, you win Pokémon battles, _consistently_. If that isn't good at something, then I don't know what is."

"Yeah, but how am I supposed to make a living on it?" Grimsley asked bitterly. "Two out of three trainers fail to make it competitively. It's a big gamble when it comes to my life."

"You've obviously thought about this..."

"Not seriously," Grimsley dismissed. "I don't like putting Purrloin in the ring. She's a house-cat first and foremost."

"Why don't you think you can do this?" Burgh demanded, his tone more harsh than he wanted it to be. "You're extremely good at strategy, you share an amazing bond with your Pokémon, you're great with odds and your instincts, and on top of it all you're handsome and articulate enough that you could charm the pants off of anyone stronger than you to psych them out!" Burgh let out a rough sigh and crossed his arms. Grimsley stared at him, his eyebrow raised, a familiar, snake-like grin overcoming his face.

"You think I'm handsome?" he teased. Burgh quickly looked out to the sea, the twilight masking his flushed cheeks.

"Maybe if you dressed more like a normal person than the prince of darkness," he allied, knocking Grimsley on the back. To his dismay, his hand lingered on his shoulder. Yet, he soon lost control of that horror as he caught sight of the minute tears that puddled in the corners of Grimsley's icy eyes. His body working independent of his mind, he pulled Grimsley into a tight hug. Weakly, Grimsley put his own hands on his back, turning the hug into an embrace. After a moment, Burgh pulled back and lifted his hand to Grimsley's face, pushing the tears off of his soft skin with his thumb. Arms around each other, both beamed and burned holes in each other's eyes. Slowly, Burgh closed his eyes and drew closer. He could feel Grimsley's breath, the softness of his nose, the pulsing of his lips through the air.

Still, something held him back. A mix of reality and fear. He hovered over Grimsley's face, hoping that he would take the drive instead, before withdrawing and stepping away from him. Grimsley's face was an unreadable stone, seemingly undaunted by the interaction.

They spent the rest of the evening at Liberty Pier, taking part in a miniature carnival. The embrace, the almost-kiss, both had faded from Grimsley's mind against a background of colored lights and festive music. However, in Burgh's head they still burned brightly along with a stark realization:

Grimsley, in his own way, was a prince, and there was no room for a lowly artist such as he in the royal court.

* * *

><p>"You know, you don't need to come with me," Grimsley remarked, shoving his hands in is pockets. "Sure, I can't do laundry, but I think I know how to cross a bridge."<p>

Burgh smiled weakly in response and zipped his jacket to keep out the brisk autumn wind that blew in from the sea. As the two men walked past the piers where they spent so much of their memorable summer together, he couldn't help but feel a rock rolling around in his stomach. He had known that this day was coming, and that in many respects it was overdue, but nonetheless he didn't want Grimsley to leave.

"I just want to be sure you're leaving for good," Burgh joked. "I can't afford to have you eating my food anymore..."

"To be honest, I did steal a few cans of soup," he admitted, patting his messenger bag with a smirk on his face. Burgh rolled his eyes as he opened the door of the gatehouse for Grimsley. As he double-checked the weather on the news crawl, Grimsley helped himself to the soda machine. He remained complacent about the beginning of his journey, as if he were simply going to the store rather than exploring the wilds of his country. The expression on his face was the same bored look Grimsley had the day they met.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Burgh asked as they left the building and began to ascend the steps to the Skyarrow Bridge.

"Yeah," Grimsley replied distantly. "Getting through the forest today is going to suck, but I can handle it." He sighed and gripped the strap of his bag. "I'm a big boy after all," he added, bitingly.

There was a note of finality in the air as the two reached the top of the steps and gazed down the pavement of the bridge. The end of the path was obscured in a dense, early morning fog. Grimsley bit his lip. It seemed as if he were looking for a good reason to hesitate. Unable to find one he could validate, he took his first step towards the mist.

"Wait, Grimsley..." Burgh remarked, pulling a package out from the inside of his jacket. Slowly, he handed it to Grimsley who received it with a perplexed look.

"It's a bit early for Christmas, isn't it Burgh?" he quipped, ripping off the twine and tearing apart the brown paper like an impatient child on his birthday. Seconds later, his covetous excitement was replaced by innocent awe. Carefully, his ran his thumb across the silken, yellow fabric in his arm.

"It seemed like your wardrobe needed a little more color in it," Burgh explained, taking the garment from his hands. He let the scarf unfold and tossed it over Grimsley's head. As Burgh tossed on end over his shoulder, Grimsley did his best to hide a rare blush by coughing into his hand. There was a long quiet as Burgh's hand lingered on his jacket.

"Thank you," Grimsley mumbled, taking a step back. "Not just for the scarf, but for everything."

"You know," Burgh replied. "I wouldn't have said this three months ago, but I enjoyed it." Grimsley grinned from ear to ear at his sentiment, but remained quiet. Speaking would ruin the moment. "Goodbye, Grimsley."

He held his hand up, briefly waving before spinning around and striding off into the fog. It wasn't until Burgh was well out of earshot that Grimsley whispered his farewell into the mist.

"_Adieu, mon bel ami_..."

* * *

><p>Joints cracking as he rose, Grimsley sighed and decided to find <em>something<em> to occupy his time. Sitting around and pulling skeletons out of his closet was no way to spend the rest of the night. He left the low-lit alleys of the slums and found himself in the safety of Gym Street. With any luck, Marshal, whom he had conned into visiting the city with him, would be in the penthouse hotel suite that Alder had so graciously let them use. He ambled along the street, watching the storeowners shut down their lighted displays until the next evening.

As the approached the end of the street, the wind lifted the scent of the brine away from the harbor and slammed Grimsley with its perfume. He could see the entrance to the hotel now. Light escaped from the lobby, passing through the glass and fanning out on the street, drawing his gaze to the darkened building facing it. Grimsley stopped and put his hands in his pockets. He stared at the viridescent stained-glass facade, unable to drive his mind away from his forlorn memories. He hadn't spoken to Burgh since finishing the Unova Gym Challenge, and as he stood there, bathed in the harsh light of a street lamp, he figured that it had been too long. To drop in now, or even before leaving to return to the Pokémon League, would be a severe breach of etiquette. Above all else, he needed to keep up appearances as a gentleman.

Yet, he could not peel his gaze away from the Gym. One hand still in his pocket, he reached up and wrapped his fingers around the flaxen scarf about his neck. He hadn't felt this lonely since he began his Pokémon journey. His stomach rolled, urging him to step forward despite his doubts, to fulfill his longing and end the restlessness he felt for so long. Grimsley would have, but a thick slip of card stock kept him anchored to the spot. He didn't have to pull it out of his pocket to know that it was a faded ace, yellow with age, his lucky card.

That ace had pulled him through some tough times. His first Gym badge, his victory against the Elite Four, even the success of his first overseas adventure were attributed to the magic of this card. It had been in his pocket when he declared Marshal his rival, when he crossed paths with Shauntal, when he discovered Caitlin in Sinnoh, and when he defeated Alder and earned his place at the Pokémon League. Without that card, he wouldn't have his job or the people he considered family. As much as his yearning and loneliness made him feel jinxed, he only needed to touch the card to gain the strength to turn around and enter the hotel, to abandon his unhappy past and walk into the future.

Grimsley had been lucky enough already. In his soul, he knew that if Providence thought it best, he would reunite with his beautiful friend at just the right moment, just like being dealt that lucky ace, completing a royal flush.

**The End**


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